Trophy Child
by johmichaels
Summary: The Doctor and Peri fight a group of scientists, alien warlords and an intergalactic gangster to protect a teenage boy, with only a middle aged Doctor on their side. But who is this boy, and why is he so significant?
1. Introduction

Trophy Child 

Introduction

John never understood people's fear of graveyards. The dead stay dead, as far as he was concerned, so there were no threats in that regard. And everyone seemed to keep away from them as well, so James thought they were the safest place to sleep when you didn't have a house. And on warm nights it felt nice too. To feel nothing except the cool breeze on your face always sent him into a deep sleep. Usually though, there weren't any other people around. Maybe a caretaker now and then, which meant John had to hide in a tree until he left. But this man, he was different. John had hid in a tree as soon as he saw the man over a grave, with a torch in one hand and a shovel in the other, but on closer inspection, John was sure he wasn't a caretaker. For one thing, caretakers tended to have dull, dirty clothes. This man's clothing couldn't be called dull. In fact, anything about this man couldn't be called dull.  
His clothes, for starters. A patchwork cloak, over a white shirt with white-speckled blue cravat, and yellow and blue striped pair of trousers. The clothes alone made it quite clear to John that this man was no grave robber. Although John had never seen a grave robber, he presumed they needed to be well hidden to do their business. If this man was a grave robber, people a half mile away would have seen him by now. There was the man's face which also was entirely unlike a caretakers. The caretakers tended to have clouded, soulless eyes, showing their clear disdain for the job. This man, with his curly orange hair, and piercing eyes, had anything but disdain. His image projected hope, telling John there was somewhere out there where he could succeed, and get off the street.  
And, there was the fact the man appeared to be talking to himself. That was quite different from the caretakers as well.  
"I'm not happy to do this," the man said, "I hope you know this"  
He seemed to be angry at someone. John tried to get closer, but tree branch would only extend so far. Even with his vision obscured, John was sure there was no one else around. Suddenly the man pointed to his invisible enemy, "No! You may try and convince me that you gave him a choice, but it won't work. You manipulated him, like you manipulated all of us"  
Whatever the man was hearing, he wasn't liking it, as he threw the shovel on the ground in anger. The man stalked menacingly forward, hunched over in rage.  
"I don't care about the greater good! Can't you see the human effect of your actions? You virtually killed a man for your own selfish reasons"  
The man was quiet for some time, as if listening to something. "Let me see him," the man said, finally, "Let me see him, or I promise I will not pick up that shovel again, and damn the consequences"  
John suddenly saw something out of the corner of his eye, and felt ill. Something in his body told him to get out, but his logical brain argued against that. All he saw was a dark-robed figure, and it was probably just his eyes playing tricks on him. He was determined to find out who this mysterious stranger was.  
But not for too much longer. After listening, the stranger said "If you're sure," and picked up a shovel to begin digging into the grave. The urge to flee took over. Whatever was going on, John didn't want to risk a police visit and a charge of vagrancy over it. So, hoping that he didn't make much noise, he quickly got out of the tree and ran as far as he could from the grave robbers. He would never find out the truth of what happened that night.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

November, 1963 

Sweat was flowing freely down Barry's face. If he made one false move the alarms would start. It all depended on him and his wires.

He heard a click, and gently pushed the safe door open. The gold within glistened.

"Brilliant work, Barry," Terrance, the local mastermind of these such capers, said, before turning to his two goons, "Load it into the-"

He was cut off by the sound of the loud bell ring. Barry hadn't been as good as he thought he had been, obviously.

"Shit!" Terrance shouted out, but quickly regained his composure, "Okay boys, nothing changes. He take the gold, and run, only faster this time. And no witnesses,"

As the two goons grabbed handfuls of the jewels into prepared carry bags, Terrance lead Barry out the front of the jewellers. Once outside, a revolver was rudely shoved into the lockpick's hands.

"They get the jewels, you get rid of the evidence," Terrance said, displeased.

"Why me?"

"Because you were the one that messed up," Terrance explained, pushing the other man away. Barry briefly looked back to see Terrance open up the back of their van to greet the getaway driver, before looking up and down the street for anyone.

Being a rich area on a Wednesday night, Barry didn't expect someone. All the partiers waited until Thursday or Friday, while the homeless were forced to other areas by infrequent police patrols.

In fact, tonight, he could only see one person out. It was a teenager, no more than sixteen, slumped against a gate across the road. He wore a nice shirt, and black trousers, looking like someone lost on the way home from school.

Except for a large bloodstain on his shirt. Barry decided that someone had done his job for him, and he wasn't one for complaining. He turned to leave when something appeared out of the corner of his eye.

When he turned to face this image, it was gone, but something else attracted his attention. The blood stain on the boy's shirts was reducing, and appeared to be going back into the wound.

"What the hell are you?" he shouted in fear, and seeing this effect beyond his comprehension, fired two shots into the boy's chest.

But it made no difference. Now, the blood stain had vanished, and the boy appeared to be stirring.

Barry didn't need this. He was a simple locksmith, nothing more. Terrance had only told him about the safe, not about weird kids.

He found his feet deciding to race back to the van on their own, and he didn't exactly argue. The two goons were packing the last of the jewels, so as he jumped into the back of the van, he felt he could collapse, safe in the knowledge that the team would soon be leaving here.

"What got you so riled up?" Terrance asked, as the goons shut the van doors from inside and the vehicle sped off, "You did the job for me, didn't you?"

Barry tried to answer, but his tongue was having trouble moving the way he wanted. He garbled out a series of syllables, trying to explain what he saw, but nothing came out right.

"No one had better have seen us, Barry me boy," Terrance said, squeezing the thief's jaw painfully, "Or we'll have to have a little visit,"

No one had seen them, but little old Mrs Thorndyke (Widow) had heard quite a bit. The alarm had stirred her, but it was the gunshots that really grabbed her attention.

She raced to her second story window in time to see the van drive off, but she preferred to focus on the teenager left by the gate. She quickly moved to her phone, and asked to be connected to the police.

"I heard gun shots," she explained, after giving her details, "And I went to my window, and there's this boy, lying there. He must have been shot,"

"Is there anyone in the vicinity?" the telephone receptionist asked.

"Yes," Mrs Thorndyke said quickly, then corrected herself, "No, no, sorry. I thought I saw a man in black robes there, but there's nothing,"

She mused on that momentarily. Her eyes didn't usually play tricks on her.

Then she remembered what was happening, and pleaded down the phone, "Please send an ambulance,"

This was midnight. Dr. Phil Manolis should have gone home two hours ago. But he chose to stay on longer.

He kidded himself it was the friendships he had maintained with all his colleagues. But as he looked around the empty cafeteria, he knew this was a lie. He stayed here because he could kid himself that he was sociable here, whereas at home, there was no such self delusion.

He sighed, and went to pour himself another coffee when the words "Doctor Manolis to emergency," filtered through the hospitals internal speakers.

As he moved in a fast, but not disorderly pattern, he realised this is why he stayed here. To help people was his sole cause in life, which, of itself, was not a bad thing. He saw people with far worse causes in life than his.

Dr Cate Phelps was wheeling the patient, a blonde teenager, into the surgery by the time he arrived. Cate was possibly the only person he had made a connection with, mainly because everyone made a connection with Cate. A cynic would say it was due to her short blonde hair, long legs, tight waist, and other things, but he only knew her as extremely professional at stressful times.

"Details?" he asked, as he suited up.

"Teenager, found outside jewellers having been shot twice in the chest. No pieces of identity found on him-" she began, to be cut off by Manolis.

"Twice in the chest?" he asked.

"That's what the paramedics told me," she answered.

Manolis looked closely at the patient's chest, "But there's no blood,"

"I noticed that too. Perhaps someone washed the wound," Cate answered, realising how silly that sounded before she even finished.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter for now. We'll still need to get those bullets out," he said, turning to the anaesthetist, "Put him under,"

It was a relatively easy operation, and the bullets had been removed simply. But a few problems resulted for Manolis. Firstly, the fact that the shots should have killed the patient. Two direct shots to the heart. But the boy's heart was still beating, and he was still breathing normally, and-

"Jesus Christ, James, this kid's meant to be under for hours now!" he said as the boy's eye's flickered open.

"Sorry," the anaesthetist said, quickly returning the mask to the patient, who quickly returned to slumber, "I don't understand. I gave him the usual amount,"

Manolis just scowled at him, but inside, he knew the amount was okay. Yet another mystery about the boy. Manolis prepared a list of things to ask this boy's parents, when they found out who they were.

As he finished dressing the wound he heard a voice over his shoulder.

"The boy has no parents," a man said behind him, "But he can say what happened, himself,"

Manolis turned around to see a curly-haired chubby man, with very loud coloured clothes staring at him. This shock allowed the stranger enough time to move towards the gas, and apply the anaesthetic once more.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing? This is a controlled area," Manolis yelled.

"Trust me. He won't wake up until you cue him," the man said, switching off the gas.

The shock had worn off, and Manolis grabbed the stranger by the collar. With anger in his eyes, he forced this man towards the door.

"Controlled area," Manolis repeated as he flung the stranger out of the door, "Meaning medical staff only!"

"Well, I may not be a member of the medical staff, but you see, I am the-" the man tried to get out, before a slam of a door separated him from Manolis.

"Look who's gone all bouncer on us," Cate said with a smile. Manolis, despite himself, had to return that smile.

"What do you expect? This stranger turns up here, having not cleaned properly, and tries to kill my-" he began, walking to the patient, but shocked into silence.

The boy was sitting up and speaking rapidly. But it was a language neither Manolis, nor anyone else in the room could recognise. But yet, it also sounded familiar.

"Well, I'll be damned," he whispered, as the boy continued to babble.

It wasn't easy when the patient couldn't understand you, but Cate had learn many non verbal comforting tools in her career. So, after using them, she was able to lull the patient back to sleep, while she and Manolis wheeled him into his room. It wasn't normal procedure for him to help her like this, but for some reason he didn't want to let this boy out of his sight.

"What are we going to do about him?" Manolis asked her.

"Nothing tonight," Cate answered, "But early in the morning, child services will be contacted. They'll find someone who can translate his words, then hopefully he can get back to his family,"

"Or?"

"A foster home," Cate added, "But nothing for you to worry about. Get home, already. Try and get some sleep before dawn,"

"I can't sleep at night," he said, to see Cate roll her eyes, "But I will head home soon. But, just promise me one thing,"

"What?" she asked.

"Keep a special eye on this patient. Don't ask me why, but I'm worried about him,"

Together, Manolis and Cate moved the patient from the trolley onto his bed, and Cate began to pull the sheets over his body.

"You're probably suffering from some anxiety disorder, and desperately need a hobby," she groaned, "But okay. Now go,"

He smiled at her, then turned to leave.

It was not more than an hour after Manolis' departure that two figures, dressed entirely in black and carrying small, matching black bags began to glide down roofs. They knew that the high security they would find a challenged would not occur for several decades yet, so were not in the slightest bit frightened of being caught as the abseiled down.

"This the right level, Wolf-Lips?" one asked.

"Should be. Freak said the boy should be in this area, or around about," Wolf-Lips answered, "Let's get to work.

Behind their balaclavas they were smiling. As one they removed miniature lasers from their bag and began to cut open a segment of the wall.

Being a fairly uneventful night after their mysterious patient, Cate had no trouble keeping close by his room. In fact, while other nurses waited in one particular area before being called, she waited next to the patient until called, then returned swiftly after finishing her minor duties.

Part of this was keeping a promise to Manolis. But the majority of this was she was worried about this boy as well. She felt like she needed to protect him from something.

She laughed at herself. She was getting as bad as Phil. But then she heard the sound of shattering glass, and realised she and Phil may have had a point.

She moved swiftly to the noise to find the stranger, with the patchwork jacket now around one arm, shutting the door behind him. He was now accompanied with a young girl, with short brown hair, wearing a blue jacket. Noticing the girls looks, Cate allowed the smirk. Manolis would have been outraged if he were here. Loony in an operating theatre, but a loony going home to a cute girl was another thing altogether.

"Silly door," the man hissed, "Why wouldn't you open for me? Now see what I had to do,"

"Ah Doctor," the girl said, in an American accent, noticing Cate.

"Before the inventions of locks, all you needed was a magnet. Then, all you needed was a hairpin. From the mid twenty-first century onwards, all you needed was a sonic screwdriver. But trust the White Guardian to send us to the one time-the only time-when I can't open a door," the man continued, gradually turning around to face Cate, "Oh, hello. I'm the-"

"Insane man present at the operating theatre, I remember," Cate answered, "The door to this area is locked to keep people like you out,"

"Yes, well, you see," the man began, "I simply had to see your patient. Would you have done anything less than I if your own son had been in such an accident?"

The wall was let down gracefully, so as not to make a noise. With all rooms being separately sealed, no one would notice from a distance anything but a draft. Eventually they would see the hole in the wall, but Wolf-Lips planned to be long gone by then.

"How close are we?" the other man asked.

"Don't know,"

"How the hell are we supposed to find the boy?"

Wolf-Lips switched on his night goggles, and motioned for the other man to do the same, "Keep an eye out for any black shadows in the corner of your eyes. The more plentiful, the closer we are,"

Cate groaned at the obvious lie "Right, I've had enough of this. Get out of this hospital now, or I will get security up here,"

"Come on Doctor," the girl said, guiding the man away, "I think we should go,"

"Good idea," Cate agreed, "Leave while we don't have to speak through a police officer,"

"Listen, you don't understand. Your patient is in great danger," the man repeated.

"Yes, I know. From you,"

"No, not me!" the man yelled, frustrated at her, "From-oh what's the point?"

Cate grinned. He'd given up, and was heading down the stairs to the exit.

"I'm going now," he said to Cate, "But if the entire of space time collapses tomorrow, I want you to know you caused it,"

"Sorry to have disturbed you," the girl said, "My uncle, he gets too involved in things sometimes, and leads to confusion,"

"Confusion!" the man shouted, "My dear Peri, this is one thing I am not confused about. The fate of the world is at stake,"

Cate watched to make sure the pair had left, before returning to the patient. Right weird he was, no matter how his niece or whatever she was tried to explain it. Hopefully he and his niece were the only problems Manolis was foreseeing.

She saw as she entered the patient's room that this wasn't so. The two men in black were there, one picking up the patient to carry on his shoulders. They both turned their heads to look at her.

Cate instinctively reached out for the security button. The papers the next day would call her heroic, but to be honest she may not have made a move if she knew they had guns.

But she wasn't aware of this fact, and so without fear pressed the security button. She heard a ding that showed the message had registered, then the short sound of the silenced revolver. She felt a sudden impact in her chest, and then nothing.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Wolf-Lips looked down at the Nurse's body. A pity. She was good looking enough. He could have made quite a bit from her alive, or even with just the clean uniform.

"Those Arcturans certainly love their human nurses," he murmured to himself.

"Forget about your side sails. Let's get the trophy child and get out of here," the other man, code-named Treasure, hissed, the boy over one shoulder.

"No, leave the Trophy child. There's no time to get him back to the entry point before security arrives," Wolf-Lips explained.

"Bring them on. We can handle then,"

"We don't want to bring too much attention to ourselves. Freak can't bail us out of this one if we mess up, or something gets traced back to us," Wolf-Lips said, "No, we leave the child and come back for him later. The police will try to move him into some sort of safe house, if they honestly think he's in danger. And in a place that has a few police, and a secret location would be a must more discrete,"

Treasure nodded. Wolf-Lips returned the nod. And then they rushed back to their entry point.

When security arrived they found Cate's body, the patient and the hole in the wall, but nothing else.

By the time Manolis returned to work at midday, the police presence had quieted down. In a move that would be embarrassing if it wasn't so serious, he hadn't even realised anything had happened until he went to the patient's room to find it surrounded by police tape, with a large blood stain on one wall.

"Damn it Charles, I was only a phone call away," Manolis yelled as he walked into the head of medicine's office.

"I didn't think it was necessary. You'd just had a long work day-you needed the rest," Charles Sturt, chief of medicine answered. He was a stern looking fellow, concerned with numbers and figures more than people and emotions. Manolis never could stand him.

"Can you even hear yourself? Something happened in the room of a patient-my patient, and all I find out is that my ward has been emptied of patients,"

"He's not your patient anymore. The police will be moving him in a matter of hours," Charles said, his concentration having moved to his accounts.

"You're not listening to me, Charles. What happened last night?"

Sturt groaned, and looked up at the other doctor, "Phil, someone broke into the hospital-someone very professional. The police haven't told me everything, but what seems to have happened is that they went to your patient's room, to kidnap your patient. Cate must have interrupted them because,"

Sturt sighed before continuing, "Cate was killed. She managed to get security through, so her attackers left,"

This shock sent Manolis reeling. He fell back, using the wall to steady himself. His only friend had been killed while saving his patient.

"I understand this is a shock-you two were close," Sturt concluded, "I suggest you take some time off. As I said, your patient is being moved, so there's no reason to be here,"

Manolis grunted a thanks, and quickly left for the staff room. And there he followed the suggestion of many an intern, and collapsed into a deep slumber.

Two paramedics quickly moved the patient into an ambulance. Already two police cars were waiting nearby to escort the patient to another hospital. As one paramedic gave a hand signal, the two police cars started, and the convoy drove off.

None of the police expected anything to occur. This was in no way a dangerous area of Britain, and the police officers between them had maybe investigated one murder.

If their Sergeants had heard the name Freak before this task, an entire task force would have been used. But it still wouldn't have been enough.

At an intersection, a small car tried to catch the lights, and smashed into a van coming from its right, blocking one section of traffic. The police, by now, should have been alarmed, as between the smashed van in front of them, and the few cars behind them, they were blocked in.

But instead of being alarmed, the two police men from the front car went to investigate the crash.

Meanwhile, a young man, with greasy slick backed hair knocked at the window of the rear police car. The window opened.

"Excuse me Corporal, could you tell me how long this is going to go on?" he said, "It's just me wife and I are about to go on holiday and-"

The area driver wasn't really listening, but suddenly heard two silenced gun blasts. He stuck his head out the window to see that two armed men in balaclavas had left the van, and now were walking over the bodies of two police officers to get to the ambulance.

The area driver was about to prepare to drive off when he felt a gun against his temple.

"Sorry about this," the young man, the ringleader, said, and fired. The other policeman had time enough to scream before also being killed.

With the police disposed off, and the ambulance jammed in place, the red headed youth called out to his team mates in the surrounding cars.

"Alright, get the trophy child out of here!"

Manolis suddenly jerked awake. He wasn't one to have many nightmares. Still, he wasn't going to see it as a vision of the future.

But that last line, "Get the trophy child," stuck in his mind. Somehow, he had to follow it. He needed to get the patient out of this hospital before the police did.

He smoothed down his hair, and left the staff room to run into Nurse Jan Byrnes.

"Jan," he said, catching his breath, "Where is the patient I dealt with last night? The gunshot wound?"

"He's being moved soon," she answered, trying to walk off.

He caught her up and continued, "I know that, Jan, but I need to do one last check. There were some complications regarding the anaesthetic yesterday, and I need to be sure there wasn't an adverse reaction,"

Reluctantly, Jan gave him the room and ward number. Soon, Manolis was there, to see a policeman standing guard. He was familiar to Manolis, he was one of the policeman from his dream.

"Excuse me, I'm this patient's doctor," Manolis said, holding out a hand and introducing himself.

"Police Corporal Colin Gillam," the policeman answered, taking Phil's hand, "Is there a problem?"

"There probably isn't, Corporal," Manolis explained, "But last night, there was a complication in surgery. I just need to be sure that nothing lasting occurred. Basically, I need to take the patient in my consultation room to make sure I didn't save him last night only to have him die tonight,"

Gillam was reluctant, "I don't know-"

"It won't be more than fifteen minutes, and I'll bring him back here when we're done,"

Manolis could see Gillam was reluctant, but the patient's safety was paramount. So, soon the policeman was helping Manolis put the patient into a wheelchair.

"Thank you officer," Manolis said, and wheeled out the patient.

No one questioned Manolis as he went through the corridors. Nor should they, as he was a doctor escorting a patient, which in a hospital was more normal than the norm. However, taking the patient, dressed in hospital gown, into his car would require something else.

It was a cliché, he knew, but if setting the fire alarm would alarm people just enough to get down to the rear car park, it was worth it.

He pushed against the fire escape. Immediately the alarm sounded. If he knew about the fire drills, it would take at least a minute for people to start evacuating.

Time enough for him on feet, but not while the patient was in a wheelchair. So he picked up the patient in his arms and raced down the stairs.

His timing was right. It was only when he reached the car park that he heard another person at the top of the fire escape. So, he was still ahead of time.

But no time to rest yet, so he moved swiftly to his car. He helped the boy to the ground. The boy immediately moved to the passenger door on the car, and as Manolis unlocked the doors, got in and did up his seat belt.

Manolis looked around once more as he pulled out of the car park. But no one was there. His act would be found out soon enough, but not just yet.

Lacking a hideout like a professional kidnapper, Manolis could think of nothing better than going to his home. He escorted the boy into his home, to find the boy immediately went to the kitchen table and sat down.

"You're hungry, I presume?" Manolis said with a smile, "Well, I don't know what you like to eat, but I'll try to cook you something,"

He decided to give the boy the old English fry up. Since the boy didn't seem to have such a lovely time in England so far, it was only fair that Manolis give him a joyful British experience.

It also wasn't too complex that he couldn't ponder on the enigma of this boy. Why wasn't this boy afraid? Manolis liked to convince himself that he had a trustful face, but all trust has its limits. And kidnapping a child was too far by anyone's books.

And what was he going to do now? The police would know the child was gone by now, and it would only be a matter of time before they found him. Would they have to become fugitives? But why? What did Manolis know about this boy? Why should he help this patient anymore than any other?

His train of thought was disturbed by the doorbell. He drained the oil, and but the meal on a plate for the patient.

"Here we go. Not perfectly done, but I don't think I should I leave the oil on hot pan, do you?" he said. The patient looked strangely at the food, but quickly began to eat it.

Manolis was worried as he opened the door. But he didn't see why, on closer inspection. The police wouldn't have knocked, neither would the criminals who killed Cate. So it was probably just a neighbour.

Unfortunately it wasn't a neighbour. It was the stranger in the ridiculous garb from the surgery. Now, he was accompanied by a pretty girl with short brown hair.

"Hello, Doctor Manolis. I think we need to talk," the stranger said.

"No. You need to leave while I call the police and tell them last night's murderer is here," Manolis said slamming the door.

"You won't call the police, because you'd have to tell them why you kidnapped a small child," the stranger said, through the door's letter hatch.

Manolis knew he was speaking the truth, but wouldn't admit it, "Just leave, okay?"

"Your boy needs my help. You can't comprehend the danger we're all in," the stranger continued, "Have your patient touch some sort of timepiece if you don't believe me,"

Manolis didn't trust the stranger, and still thought he was involved in the murder of Cate. But it didn't hurt to do what he said, in this case.

So he took off his wristwatch, and picked up the patient's arm. The boy was disturbed in his eating, but let Manolis continue.

Manolis secured the wristwatch on the boy's arm, then saw what the stranger was talking about.

The hour, minute and second hand were still working at the same time, but now they were moving in reverse.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Manolis opened the door slowly to the stranger.

"Just supposing I'm prepared to listen to you, what do you know of this boy?" he asked.

The stranger used the small opening to push his way through, walking to the kitchen. The girl, carrying two bulky recording devices , followed slowly after him.

"Oh, I know nothing about this boy in particular. But I know quite a bit about his kind. You could say I'm an expert in this area," the man explained, "I'm the Doctor by the way, and the young woman is my assistant Peri."

"Hello," she said, smiling briefly as she followed into the kitchen.

Manolis followed along, to see the boy not in the least bit shocked to have two strangers entering the room. The boy seemed to be relieved to see the Doctor in particular.

The Doctor and Peri quickly set up the recording devices. One was positioned on the table next to the boy, while the other one positioned at the opposite end.

"Well, we already know your name, and now you know ours, so we've only got one person left unknown," the Doctor said, then gestured to Peri, "Record anything the boy says, until I tell you to stop."

Peri nodded and the Doctor thrust a microphone into Manolis' face.

"What do you expect me to do?" he asked.

"Just ask the boy anything you want to know about him. Name, age, preferably where, and when he comes from."

Manolis found this performance rather odd, but after trying and failing to communicate with the boy for so long, he was willing to try anything.

"Okay," he said, taking a breath, "Who are you? Where do you come from? How long have you been here?"

"Good," the Doctor said, stopping the recording. He flicked a switch on the recording device, and was about to press play when the boy suddenly said something in his own language.

Then the recording started to play, only it was incomprehensible. Manolis quickly realised this was one of the questions he just asked, but played in reverse.

The penny dropped. His own voice in reverse was the same as the boy's language. He was about to point this out to the Doctor when the other man held up a finger to silence him.

The Doctor stopped the record, presumably the end, or rather the beginning, of one of Manolis' questions. The boy said something again, and when he had finished, the Doctor played another of Manolis' questions in reverse. The same action was performed for the third and final question.

"All recorded Peri?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes Doctor," she answered.

"Put it into reverse, and then play it," the Doctor instructed.

Peri did so, and soon the sound of Manolis' voice was projected out of the machine.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Timothy, father," came the soft spoken response, "Surely you can remember my name after all this time."

"He thinks I'm his father?" Manolis hissed at the Doctor. The Doctor again held up a finger to silence him as the next question played.

"Where do you come from?"

"Here. Well, I remember coming from a place like this, only people spoke English there. And the actions were normal, I think."

One last question played: "How long have you been here?"

"I can only faintly remember being anywhere else but this weird place," was the answer, "Unless you want to know how long I've lived with you. Nine years-you told me to remember it once."

The recording stopped, and for a moment everyone was silent. Until Manolis suddenly lost his restraints.

"You must be all in this together," he said, "Bringing a child here, making that trick with the watch, all for some sort of scam."

"Think for a moment, Phil!" the Doctor yelled at him, "Even if we were scam artists, one of these tricks, as you put it, that I've shown you isn't actually possible to be done."

It took Manolis a while to realise it.

"The boy, Timothy. He was answering the questions before I asked them," he said, looking at the Doctor in sheer disbelief, "He can tell the future?"

"Sit down," Peri suggested, guiding him to a seat, "The Doctor has a lot of explaining to do."

Manolis took the suggestion as the Doctor went into full speech mode. Hands on hip, posture absolutely correct, Manolis was sure the Doctor was focusing on these things.

"The boy can't tell the future. He can only tell his past. In the same way, you know what will happen to him, while you don't know where he came from,"

One word was Manolis' response: "What?"

"Take a deep breath, Phil," the Doctor suggested, "Timothy is from a time frame where time runs to the reverse of our own. It was destroyed at the creation of our universe, and will be created when ours is destroyed. Thus, when he describes you as father, it is because he has spent nine years of his life with you, but he wouldn't remember you taking him from the hospital at all."

"That's mad, impossible," Manolis said, head in hands. He was certain the Doctor was mad, but when his explanations seemed to make sense, what did that make him?

"At the very least it's highly dangerous. Two time frames so radically different aren't allowed to mix together," the Doctor said.

"Why dangerous?" Peri asked.

"For starters, the boy's entire existence here means he must survive until he arrives from his own time line. Imagine if someone killed him and destroyed his body utterly-the paradox would be enormous. Or if someone killed Phil here," the Doctor explained, gaining a shocked glance from the other man, "That would create a paradox with all the experiences Timothy remembers sharing with him. Then there are the issues of his abilities, that defy the physical laws of our timeline, but in reverse do not."

As a demonstration, the Doctor took a small ball from his pocket and kept it in his opened palm. Suddenly the ball sprang from his palm, into Timothy's outstretched hand, simulating a throwing motion.

"I must be going mad," Manolis groaned.

"Don't worry. I thought that once too. You get used to it after a while," Peri explained, lightly rubbing Manolis' back for reassurance.

"Who are you two?" Manolis asked, "How do you know these things?"

"Well, I'm a botany student and a lowly human," Peri explained, "But the Doctor is from a place where they specialise in stopping these sort of time disturbances."

"And preventing," the Doctor added, "Now, Manolis, you should get going soon with Timothy. Now while my people want to focus on preventing time disturbances and protecting the space/time continuum, others have more malicious intent."

"Such as?" Manolis said.

"Oh, trophy hunters, those who want to know about time travel, even irresponsible scientists. It's in no way an overstatement to say that possession of your boy for research purposes could drive any number of interplanetary empires to war, with Earth, Mars and half a dozen other planets and cultures stuck in the middle. I'm afraid your friend Cate is only the start. If major empires find out about him, it will lead to a death toll beyond your conception, destruction of planets."

"Slow down, Doctor! Stop trying to shock me-"

"It's not a shock tactic, Manolis. It's the truth," the Doctor said, then suddenly smiled, "But you don't need to worry, because it's so easy to prevent. The boy's chronal energy reading would be quite easy to pick up near the area he arrived in this dimensional plane, but the further you move from it, the harder he'll be to find. So you need to move from here, Manolis. Move far from here, and whenever you think you're being found, move again."

Manolis had enough, grabbing the Doctor's shoulder and shouting "Stop now and get the hell out of my house! You come here without warning, with some crazy talk about alternative dimensions, and ghost stories, and you not only expect me to believe you, you expect me to leave my house, and my occupation-completely uproot my life-"

"What life, Phil? You've kidnapped a patient-I don't think you'll be welcomed back with open arms at work after that!"

"Perhaps you should offer him some proof, Doctor," Peri said.

"We don't have time! At any moment, someone could-" the Doctor quickly silenced himself.

"What?" Manolis asked. The Doctor put up a hand to silence him, then Manolis heard it. Someone was knocking at his front door.

The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips, urging Peri and Manolis to be quiet, as he cautiously opened the front door, just slightly, to see who was waiting. A group of four young adults were waiting. They raised an eyebrow at the Doctor's garb, but little more, as if such behaviour was beneath them. Each one of the four held a heavy suitcase in one arm-each case on its own slightly too heavy for the guests, but they were trying not to show it. In their other hand, three of them carried a small personal organiser, with the exception of the tall, prematurely balding gentleman at the front, who was pointing a hand held switch with a flashing light at the end at the front door.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, then noticed the diminutive bespectacled woman at the rear of the group, "And gentlewoman of course."

The woman at the back raised her head when she realised that was about her, pushed her glasses against the bridge of her nose, and smiled at the Doctor. Her squinty eyes and slightly upturned nose gave a faint impression of being a mole. She opened her mouth to speak, when the balding men intervened.

"Hello, Earth civilian. I am Professor Yenosian, from your great Earth education institution of Harbridge and Yaleford. I trust you have heard of these education institutions?" Yenosian asked in a very clear middle-class, Oxford educated accent.

Peri stifled a laugh from behind the door at Yenosian's self-description. This provoked the Doctor to turn away from the door to glare at her. Peri quickly became solemn, but as the Doctor turned back to Yenosian, gave a slight smile in Manolis' direction.

"I know those institutions well, but-" the Doctor began.

Yenosian interrupted the Doctor immediately, "Very good. In that case you will be happy I am sure, to participate in research me and my research team are doing into leylines in this area."

"No, I don't think so, sorry," the Doctor said, beginning to shut the door. The Freckly red-headed male to Yenosian's left quickly stuck a foot into the door to stop him.

"Very good Jeremy," Yenosian said to his aide, "Now, good Earth citizen, may I ask why you do not wish to further our research cause?"

The Doctor thought over his answer for a while, before answering, "Because you're not actually investigating ley lines, are you?"

"Of course we are!" Yenosian protested, pointing to the slightly muscular male to his right, "We are helping Sebastian here complete his Masters in Ley Linology."

"No, that's not true, is it?" the Doctor argued, "I'm fairly certain you're not even from this planet, are you?"

The four researchers suddenly dropped their faces as one, looking absolutely distraught their cover was so easily blown. Then the woman at the back began to cry.

"Don't be too sad, please," the Doctor begged, "It was a very good performance. Your accent was absolutely perfect, Yenosian, and the names your attire is faultless. Anyone else would have been convinced, but I am, unfortunately, an expert alien-spotter."

They looked slightly happier at this.

"So, it was only little problems you picked up on, then?"

"Oh yes, very minor. Mainly just the technology."

"Too old?"

"No…too new. Your personal organisers aren't expected for about thirty years, and your chronal particle tracker-that's centuries off," the Doctor explained, "Now, why don't you tell me who you really are, and why you're really here? And please help that young lady not to cry."

"Robyn, desist!" Yenosian ordered the woman, but to no avail.

"Let me try," the Doctor said, leaving the house to give Robyn a handkerchief.

"Thank yer," Robyn answered in a thick Geordie accent, before blowing her nose loudly. She offered it back to the Doctor.

"No, I've plenty more. Now, I would really like to hear about who you are now."

"Yes, of course. I am Professor Yenosian of Zebadee university, and my research team and I are-"

"So Yenosian is your real name?"

"No…no of course not. But unfortunately my real name when mentioned on these level planets tends to shatter windows," Yenosian explained, "So for now, at least, we'll stick with out codenames."

"Certainly. Carry on."

"Of course. We're part of a research team investigating cross-dimensional temporal malfunctions. Our scanners report that something arrived in this temporal dimension from an alternative dimension, and is currently residing here," Yenosian said, "This discovery will certainly allow us to greater examine the notion of time and space, and may possibly help development of a time/space machine. Will you help us make this huge scientific step?"

The Doctor cringed at this description, "I'd love to help you, Professor, due to my long-term admiration of Zebadee University. But unfortunately there's no such cross-dimension anomaly at this address."

"But our scanners-"

"Yes well, I think I can understand what the problem is. If you wouldn't mind scanning me."

Yenosian did as requested, and moved the chronal particle tracker up and down the Doctor's body.

"You're a 4th dimension traveller!" Yenosian said, stunned.

"Only occasionally. On weekends, you understand," the Doctor shrugged it off.

"But his readings couldn't account for the huge reading we got from the mother ship, guv," Sebastian pointed out, his accent a not-so-good version of cockney.

"But of course! I can't believe I didn't realise it," the Doctor shouted, "That's a MKS-3000 type scanner, isn't it? Well, they're notoriously renowned for overadjustments of chronal activity. If you'll just let me investigate it…"

The Doctor took a hold of the scanner and after trying to coax it from Yenosian's grip, forced it from his hand with a quick tug, and opened it up to show a mess of wires and chips. He removed a small army knife from his pocket, and cut, and reconnected wires, before handing it back to Yenosian.

"Try it now."

Yenosian did and was less surprised, "Oh…there's only you. And the chronal activity isn't high enough to cross over dimensions."

"I'm so terribly story. But this is what happens when you use outdated equipment."

"Or outdated staff," Yenosian said, quickly slapping Sebastian at the back of the head, "I'm so sorry we disturbed you sir. We'll be on our way."

"No problem. Have a good night."

The scientists turned to leave, and were at the front garden gate when Yenosian stopped, turning around to ask the Doctor one last question.

"If you're not investigating temporal anomalies on this planet, what is a 4th dimension traveller like you doing here on Earth?"

"Oh, I'm invading it," the Doctor said glibly.

Yenosian shrugged his shoulders, "Makes sense. Very well then, sorry about wasting your time. Good night."

The Doctor made sure the team actually were leaving before returning to Manolis' home, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, that wasn't so hard. I don't see what you're worrying about," Peri said.

"Those were mild mannered, and slightly stupid, academics. Already more aggressive people have found the boy-they attacked the hospital last night. And they'll come for him again-here. And after them, more scientists, more gangsters, more trophy hunters, and more warlords. Unless you leave now with your boy."

"He's not my boy!" Manolis shouted, "And if he's so important, why can't you take him."

"Yes he is! Listen to Timothy, listen to him. He's lived with you for nine years, grew up with you, and thinks of you like a father. His history is already written, which means your future is already decided. I would love to take him from your responsibility, but that would just make the problem worse!"

Peri put a reassuring arm around him, "I know it's hard for you to understand, but this is the only way to protect Timothy. And you want to protect him, don't you? That's why you took him out of the hospital, to protect him."

"I do want to look after him, but…if you could just give me a little more proof…"

"For goodness' sake, Manolis, stare at Timothy!" the Doctor ordered. Manolis did what he was told, and the Doctor suddenly moved around him, forcing his head not to move from Timothy. Suddenly, to Manolis' surprise, unmoving, black cloaked figures appeared around Timothy, in the corner of his eyes. He moved his eyes to stare at them, but they vanished from his sight when he tried. But as soon as he stared at Timothy again, he saw the figures once more.

"You can see them, can't you? The Monoliths?" The Doctor said with a cheeky grin letting go of Manolis' head/

"It's an optical illusion. Has to be."

"No, it's not. It's a fourth-dimensional creature called the Monoliths. They are created by and survive on chronal energy produced by disturbances to space/time. Can't move away from their energy source, and once it goes, they die. Very hard for your average three dimensional person to see. But if someone knows they're there, they are absolutely obvious. And the people who want Timothy will use these Monoliths to track him. Now do you believe me?"

Manolis nodded glibly, then asked the Doctor "So, I'll have to look after Timothy for-how long?"

"Nine years. Until he returns to his own timeframe. These things have a habit of sorting themselves out, if left to their own devices," the Doctor explained, fishing some cards, and papers from his pocket, "Here is details of a bank account to get you started, and some papers to avoid you being detected."

Manolis took the documents and looked at them. There was an application for a new drivers licence, a new passport, and a new birth certificate, all with the name Jonathan Holloway on them.

"Oh, and this," the Doctor said, pulling six white squares from his pocket, "I can't stay with you throughout the time, I'll be busy finding out how Timothy appeared in this time zone, and where he's going. However, if you think you've been found-no matter how irrational the thought is, you need to contact me."

"How?" Manolis took the

"Lay out the cubes, and think the message. Then think of me, and think hard. The squares will sort out the rest," the Doctor explained, then pushed Manolis towards his bedroom, "And now you must pack your bags and go. We've waited far too long as it is."

"But there's so much more I need to find out from you, Doctor? What do I do with Timothy? He can't go to a normal school. And who attacked the hospital?" Manolis said

Once again there was a knock on the door.

"The scientists again?" Peri asked.

"I hope so, but I doubt it. I think it's far more likely Manolis is going to have his question answered," the Doctor said, turning to Manolis, "Can you get to your car from the back door?"

Manolis nodded.

"Pack your bags, take Timothy and get to the car-now! We'll delay the others."

"But if they killed Cate, then they'll-"

"Don't worry about us!" The Doctor hissed as they heard the door knock again, "Pack your bags, grab Timothy, and get out! Go now!"

While Manolis still had his doubts about the Doctor's tale, the level of intensity in the stranger's voice made him certain of the seriousness of the situation. He raced to his room to pack his few essentials.

"Who is it?" The Doctor said, pressing his back against the left side of the front door. He motioned with his hand for Peri to similarly press up against the right side.

"Special delivery for a Phil Manolis-registered mail," the voice answered back.

Manolis took a packed suitcase from his room, and headed to the kitchen, where he bundled up the recording equipment the Doctor had brought. Then he looked at Timothy. He needed to take the boy with him, but how to convince a boy who didn't understand him? He didn't want to drag him, but what else was-

"Just leave. Timothy will follow. He knows how you leave here-he's gone through it already," the Doctor hissed, before speaking in his regular voice to the guests outside, "A bit late for deliveries, isn't it?"

"You know us, si, no matter rain, snow or shower, we're always ready to serve."

Manolis was at the back door now, Timothy dutifully following him. Manolis looked back at the Doctor, wanting to wave goodbye, but the Doctor clenched his brow at him in anger, and pointed at the back door repeatedly.

Message sent. Stop delaying, leave now. Manolis raced into his garage, and loaded up his car.

The Doctor noticed them leave the house, deciding now was the right time to bring their guests in.

"Kitchen," he hissed to Peri, who quickly left the hallway. The Doctor then slowly opened the front door.

As soon as it had opened an inch, the guest slammed the door open, and stood in front of the Doctor. Despite wearing a mailman's uniform, several things gave him away as not being a real mailman. Firstly, the thick coating of almost lupine hairs around his head had attempted to be concealed by being stuffed into his mailman's cap, but the hairs around his neck, chin and ears were more noticeable. The red eyes were also a bit of a give away. But what confirmed the Doctor's suspicions that this was not actually a real mailman was the ray gun pressed against his chest.

"The Trophy Child, now!" the intruder snarled, lips pulling back to show sharp teeth.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," the doctor answered, raising his hands above his head in surrender.

Peri crept slowly back from the kitchen, armed with a fry pan, the first thing she could find. The Doctor winked at her, and she nodded back.

"I don't have time for this. My clients want the child immediately and we have no time for delays."

"Oh, well in that case, you wouldn't want Peri to hit you, would you?" the Doctor asked.

The intruder, surprised, quickly spun around, and gave a cry of fright. Peri was equally shocked at the Doctor's words, but natural instincts prevailed long enough for her to swing down the frypan on the intruder's head, knocking him to the ground.

"Why did you give me a-" Peri began, but her words, like her air, were forced from her, as the Doctor leapt at her, pushing her away from the door. Suddenly a spray of bullets came through the open doorway to the wall behind, at the same level as Peri's waist.

"Now, Phil, now!" the Doctor called. Outside, they heard a car speed out of a driveway, and drive off down the street, with loose shoots being fired at it. The Doctor listened for the sound of a hit, or the car stopping, but there was none.

"Now, we leave," he whispered to Peri, helping her up, "Back door, now."

Peri looked down at the intruder, still asleep on the ground, "We're just going to leave him here?"

"Not quite," the Doctor said, reaching down to pocket the intruder's ray gun, "Now we're just going to leave him here. Now go!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the back door.

"Shouldn't we call the police? Or the Time Lords, or somebody?" Peri asked.

"Our intruder was carrying a ray gun not developed on this planet for another century or so, and appeared to be from another species," the Doctor explained, "The police wouldn't know what to do with him."

"But still, the Time Lords could-"

"And there's the other problem. These people always work in groups, or at least pairs. Now, we've just coaxed them both away from Timothy, and towards us. This meant that Manolis and Timothy escaped, but also meant we still have at least one very angry associate of this gentleman who may wish to do us harm. I think discretion will be the better part of valour on this occasion," the Doctor explained, opening the back door to Peri.

He looked out on Manolis' rear entrance. It was largely grass, with a wooden fence dividing this property from the next, without much space for escape apart from the Garage. And Manolis had already used that escape route.

"Over the fence it'll have to be," the Doctor said, rushing over and quickly pulling himself on top of the back fence, then looking back at Peri, "Well, come on."

"You sure can be quick when you want to be, Doctor," Peri said, following him.

"It's just as well, then, that now I want to be quick, isn't it?" The Doctor said, dropping himself down on the other side, "Now, any idea how we can get back to the TARDIS from here?"

Treasure removed the mailman's cap from Wolf-lips, and shook him awake. Slowly, the vulpine man stirred.

"What-what happened?"

"It was a trick. Someone attacked you, and when I came after to help you, the Trophy Child was transported out of here."

Wolf-lips sat up quickly, and snarled at Treasure, "And you chose me over the Trophy Child! You idiotic scum."

Treasure flinched as Wolf-lips spat on him.

"We've failed to pick him up twice, Freak's not going to like that! And if you think I'll accept blame with you, you're wrong. You go down, you go down alone."

"I thought you were in trouble!"

"Forget it. He wasn't going to kill me, or even harm me that much," Wolf-lips explained, "I know him, and his lot. Don't like the taste of blood, they don't."

"Who?"

"The man who lured me in, the Doctor. Heard of him?"

"Of course," Treasure nodded, "But if the Doctor's involved, Freak will understand to a degree, even if he doesn't like it. He'll also understand we'll need to come up with a better plan to deal with the Doctor."

Wolf-lips sneered with glee, "I already have one. Firstly, we track down the Trophy Child. Then we present the Doctor with what we wants. Do you know what the Doctor really wants, my friend?"

"Not really, no. Never came up on Tuesday night trivia."

"He wants a villain to fight. So we'll give him one," Wolf-lips explained, "Come on Treasure, let's head back to the ship. We've got work to do."

The Doctor, upon entering the TARDIS, rushed to the console, pushing the door switch behind him. Peri dashed in, just in time before the doors shut.

"Slow down a bit Doctor. You almost locked me out," she exclaimed.

"No time for apologies, Peri. We need to leave immediately. There's too many questions that need answering, and none can be solved here."

"Doctor," Peri leant against the console as the Doctor prepared for dematerialisation, "Are you sure Phil and Timothy will be okay without us? I mean, don't you think it would have been better if we had stayed with them, and made sure they were safe?"

"If you wanted to spend nine years of your life in the 1960's you should have told me. I could have easily dropped you off," the Doctor explained, "I, on the other hand, have more important things to do."

"What, Doctor? So far all we've done is terrify a nice doctor, and left two interplanetary criminals in the middle of sixties England."

"Peri, I didn't like leaving those two criminals behind anymore than you did, but I recognised them, or at least their style of attack," the Doctor slowly explained, dashing out of the console room as the TARDIS dematerialised, Peri obediently following him, "Those people were from the interplanetary mafia, and you know them. Well-organised crooks, conmen, drug and guns runners, only interested in making money, at the expense of everyone else's freedom."

"So this mafia has come to capture Timothy. But why? To sell him?"

"No doubt they'd like to. But no matter what incarnation of the mafia, what century they operate in, or what code-names they use, the interplanetary mafia has no access to temporal technology. Left to their own devices, the mafia trying to find the Trophy Child would be like trying to find an invisible needle in a field of haystacks. No, they're receiving help. Someone's financing this operation, and we need to find out who," the Doctor explained walking into one of many storerooms, "Because they might know what the Trophy Child is doing here."

"I thought it was just an accident in time/space. Timothy accidentally landed in this dimension."

"The Trophy Child comes from a timeline the complete opposite of our own. Crosses over between our timelines don't just happen. Someone's caused this-and the idea of someone that irresponsible having access to time technology is more scarier than anything the mafia has," the Doctor explained, that turned back to Peri, "What are you doing here?"

"Following you. What are you doing?"

"Trying to get technology to track the origin of the Trophy Child. But nothing I need you for. Best you get some rest-I'll be quite a while. And you'll be needing your energy soon."

Peri nodded and went to her room. The Doctor had explained the problem and as far as she was concerned, that was the end of it. But there remained a niggling feeling in the back of her mind the Doctor was not explaining everything.

And so she didn't go to sleep immediately. Instead she lay awake on her bed, thinking over what was happening, trying to understand the Doctor, even though she knew she couldn't.

Then she heard his voice, drifting throughout the corridors. He sounded like he was talking to himself, but it interested Peri so much she had to find him.

"There has to be another way!" the Doctor shouted, "I understand what's at risk, but there has to be another way!"

She followed his voice back to the control room, but was hesitant to walk in, waiting outside. The Doctor still appeared to be alone, but out of the corner of her eye Peri saw…what did the Doctor call them, Monoliths?

"Yes I realise that. Having a person like Timothy living in our dimension is extremely dangerous. If a renegade Time Traveller found him, they could hold the web of time to ransom. Just by cremating the poor boy they could retroactively change the past, causing a paradox that could lead to danger for the entire Earth. And cancelling Timothy's point of entry would be a solution, but there must be a better way."

Peri saw the Monolith reach a hand out to grab the Doctor's arm, and shake his head. The message was sent, there was no better way.

"But I can't! I can't let the Trophy Child be killed!"


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

November 1971 

"Hello sir, I'm from the Department of Children's welfare, may I come in? No...wait. Hello sir, I'm calling from the Department of Children's welfare, we spoke on the phone. May I come in? No, still could be better."

Caroline Mann repeated the words over and over, trying to find the perfect phrase in the vain hope she'd receive the perfect response: a kind, gracious discussion about the issues, resulting in a resolution best for all parties.

She had been in this job for five years and hadn't seen one yet. She was never greeted graciously, instead she was immediately viewed with suspicion by most people, as the woman who'll snatch the children. And that wasn't her at all.

Still, she kept a hope alive in her heart that this person she was going to see, a Dr Phil Samson, would be different. It helped that there weren't any problems, per se, with the treatment of his children, just some questions being asked. His boy, who she believed was called Timothy, (though with a great absence of documents about him, it was hard to be certain) wasn't enrolled in any school in the district. Presumably he was home-schooled, but with Samson running his own private clinic at the same time, people were wondering how the boy was being educated.

And those people called Caroline's supervisors. And Caroline's supervisors called her. And so, here she was, outside Samson's door. She knocked, and prepared her friendliest face.

"Hello?" he asked, opening the door slowly, almost cautiously.

"Hello sir, I'm from the Department of-" she began.

Quickly the door opened wide, and Samson became the man Caroline had been looking forward to see all this time: a man happy to see her. And what a jolly fellow he seemed. While he was still wearing his white coat he wore as part of his practise, a huge smile covered his face, though barely noticeable under his large beard, specked with grey. But his eyes, even behind his thing glasses, they showed what a truly happy man he was.

Caroline stopped herself from prejudging him too favourably, and internally criticised herself immediately.

"So you're the lovely person come to see how Timothy's doing?" Samson said, "Do come in. Would you like some tea?"

"If you insist," Caroline answered, walking into the house after Samson, "So, Timothy is here at the moment?"

"Yes, yes of course," Samson lead her to a small living room, containing two couches, between which was a small coffee table, "Please sit yourself down."

Caroline did as requested, "And where is he? In his room?"

"Well, it is a school day-he's studying. Working on his mathematics study the last time I checked," Samson called as he went into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

"And when was the last time you checked?"

"Only a few minutes ago," Samson explained, "I was going to look at his work more thoroughly, then you arrived. But it should be fine. Timothy is progressing well."

Caroline got up and walked into the kitchen. Now was time for the direct approach, and she preferred to do this in the same room as a parent.

"I hate to be rude, and please understand I have to ask this, but are you sure you're in the best position to judge it? No, what I mean is, don't you think Timothy would gain something from going to a school, with children his own age?"

Samson wasn't shocked by this at all, not even stopping pouring the tea, "No need to apologise, I understand. You think a child of Timothy's age should be in school, where teachers can dictate and monitor his progress, and where he can gain many friends, right?"

"Well, not like that, no, but-"

"Because in that case I absolutely agree with you," Samson explained, passing Caroline her tea, "Milk in the fridge, sugar beside you."

"Thank you," Caroline said, getting the sugar, "But if you agree with me, why is Timothy still taught at home?"

"I think you should wait until you see Timothy before I answer that," Manolis said, "But plenty of time for that later. Finish your tea, then we'll go upstairs to see him."

Just outside the city, in some farm land, a collection of cows were disturbed in their gentle grazing by a space ship, the size of a small house, landing in their midst. Their normal daily schedule of chewing grass and digesting it was savagely altered by the surprise addition of the task: run away from the craft and moo loudly.

Strangely, though, it wasn't the sound of the craft landing that woke farmer Harry Jacobs from his mid-afternoon nap, nor the smell of one of the slower cows being unable to escape the ship's engine flames in time. Having lived on the farm for most of his life, it was only important stimuli, such as the sound of startled cows, that could possibly raise him, something his late wife oft complained about.

And so with the cow's panicked cries filling his ears, Jacobs jerked awake, and raised out of his kitchen to see what the disturbance was. He arrived on the field just in time to see the futuristic space craft vanish from sight-though somehow leaving a visual residue in the air. Jacobs wasn't sure what it was-but even though he could no longer see the craft he had seen just seconds ago, he felt the now absent space he was staring at wasn't entirely real.

He had his doubts though, and was considering either reporting a possible gas leak, throwing out all the alcohol, or going back to the farmhouse to finish the dream he was presumably still in, until four men emerged from the space in his field.

They looked normal, well, more normal than what Jacobs would expect to come out of a space craft. Right number of limbs, right number of eyes, no tentacles, and the skin, while tanned much darker than the sun in these parts would allow, had absolutely no shade of green at all. Their hair was flowing down to shoulder height, and was dark and greasy. The only odd feature of them were crude, sloping foreheads, and lower jaws which stuck out, making them look savage, angry, and not entirely half sharp (Not that any of this characteristics rule out humanity-Jacobs' idiot brother in law also matched this description, and Jacobs was almost entirely certain he was a human being).

Really, the only thing that was incredible about these men were their clothes. Three of them wore loincloths, with small animals captured in the cotton lining. Around their waist they wore a belt, made out of some kind of animal skin, but with what looked like a wrist-watch imbedded in. The purpose of this belt appeared to be to contain a large sword each carried on their back.

The one in the lead stood out slightly, firstly by his two belts crossing each other diagonally across his chest, as he carried two swords on his back. Beneath these belts he wore a vest, made out of what appeared to be leather.

It was this one, who Jacobs presumed to be the leader, who grabbed Jacobs by the collar and lifted him a short distance off the ground.

"Wha-What are you doing to me? Who are you?" he howled.

"Wha-What are you doing to me? Who are you?" the small wrist-watch shaped device on the belts repeated back at him in unison, then paused before uttering, "Earth-English. Translation in operation."

The Leader snarled at Jacobs, "Where is the Trophy Child?"

"What do you mean? Look, sir, I don' mean no harm. I just want ta look afteh me cows, awright? Jus' let me do that, see, and I won' mention none o' this, awright?"

"Don't attempt to bluff me, fool! Give me the location of the Trophy Child or I'll take your head!"

"I don't know what you're bloomin' talkin' about! I don't know what a bloomin' Trophy Child is!" Jacobs howled, starting to cry slightly, "Please don't kill me."

"Tears! Is there no honour on this planet?" the leader shouted.

"Hunt Lord Gnark, your excellency," one of the others said, "He may be speaking honestly. The oracle declared this planet a primitive one, without any knowledge of time travel, or the ability to track down this Trophy Child."

Gnark grunted his agreement, and then threw Jacobs to the ground. He then turned to his aide and said, "Excellent point, Rtalku, Slayer of the Beast. We will continue the search elsewhere."

Gnark turned to where Jacobs lay, trying to sit up, but in his nervousness falling down again, "But first, slay that savage."

Jacobs' eyes widened once more as three of this men moved towards him, drawing their swords, ready to strike.

"Don't! Please don't!"

"Why not?" Rtalku asked, "As you pointed out yourself, you've no use for us, and could potentially give away our location to any rival hunters."

And in this case, as has happened once before in his life, Jacobs mouth acted independently of his mind.

"Sure, I don't know what tha Trophy Child is, but you folks do. If yer just give me an idea of where this 'ere Trophy Child could be, I'm sure I could tell yer where such locations are hereabouts."

Rtalku stopped the others from slaying him, as he looked back at Gnark. Gnark just nodded his agreement.

"The Trophy Child is a product of great value. No doubt those who possess him already seek to sell him at the market," Rtalku explained, pressing his sword against Jacobs' neck, "Now, tell me where the market on your planet is, or I'll feed you to your livestock."

Jacobs was still utterly confused at what these aliens wanted, but he decided then and there he would tell Rtalku what he thought would be correct. And then, when the aliens had gone, he would race away from the farm and never return.

"Look at him. The entire time we've been downstairs he's been studying," Samson explained, looking in at his son through the open doorway, with Caroline by his side. Timothy was sitting hunched over his desk, scribbling furiously, and didn't even lift his head to notice them at all.

"Yes, I know that, and I admit he looks very studious," Caroline said, "But that still doesn't explain why he isn't going to school."

Samson moved to Timothy's bookshelves, where he picked up a folder, and passed it over to Caroline, "Look through it. I think you'll find he's far advanced compared to children his age. A regular school would just hold him back."

Caroline looked through the pages of Maths problems, scientific reports, and English essays on quite complex texts and agreed-the boy was advanced.

"Even so, we could move him ahead a grade-"

"Only one grade?!"

"Okay, move him ahead a few grades-"

"That's better."

"Or take him to an advanced school," Caroline said, "I appreciate he's learning beyond what is expected of him in his age group, and that you're a good teacher, but don't you think he's missing out by not interacting with children his own age?"

"Missing out? Missing out on what? Being bullied because he's different? Humiliated by teachers who don't understand him?"

"Well obviously you've had some negative experiences with teachers, but that's still no reason to-"

"Timothy," Samson tapped his son on the shoulder, "Could you please tell the nice lady why you don't want to go to school?"

Timothy nodded, then stood up from his seat to face Caroline. And then he spoke. But whatever language it was he was speaking, Caroline had no idea. It sounded Polish to her, but having never met anyone from Poland, she was really basing her judgement on old war movies.

When Timothy finished, he nodded at Samson and sat down again. Samson in return spoke to Timothy in this odd language, which Caroline had now decided she would refer to as Polish in her report.

Then she realised something.

"Those school reports-the essays. They were all in English. How could he have completed them?"

"It's not a matter of learning English. His vocabulary and grammar are excellent. But due to an accident early in his life he is unable to speak English at all," Samson explained, "Now do you understand why I don't want him going to school. The other boys would eat him alive, and no matter how good the teachers you recommend are, they couldn't know how to deal with him. No one does."

"No one at all?"

"Except for me," Samson corrected himself, "And one Doctor I've taken Timothy to see."

Manolis waived to Caroline as she drove off. She seemed like a nice woman, truly he did. And that was why it hurt so much to lie to her. His name wasn't Samson. And Timothy had no brain damage at all. But in his defence, the local schools would have even less ability to teach a boy from a reverse, parallel timeline.

It hadn't been an easy eight years. The documents the Doctor gave him allowed Manolis to assume a new identity comparatively easy, especially with the sum of his bank balance, plus two thousand pounds extra, found in his new bank account the first time he inspected the balance. It certainly removed the problem of finding a house, and getting settled.

The qualifications the Doctor presented to him also were plausible enough to get a part time job in a small clinic. Part time was all he needed to keep himself and Timothy well off, but to Manolis, even this was too much time to keep away from Timothy. Even now, the thought of leaving Timothy on his own brought up memories of the bullets spraying through his front door. So he found himself bringing Timothy in to work for the first few months.

By the end of those few months he realised his problem. Timothy was slowly growing younger. He was certain he was the only one he knew it at that stage, but eventually everyone would realise there was something wrong. He hadn't dealt with that personal crisis well. His first attempt was to find a job in a different town every twelve months. This casual move, he felt, wouldn't arouse suspicion, and his credentials were good enough to mean jobs weren't a problem.

The third year, he was asked why he moved every twelve months, and Manolis realised a regular, frequent move, could also be just as noticeable to those who wish Timothy harm. So instead of bringing Timothy to work every day, he instead invested in a very good security and alarm system, which would contact him if Timothy felt afraid. Thankfully, this had not yet needed to be used.

Finally, three years ago, Manolis moved one last time, to operate a clinic at his new house. No matter how good the alarm system, he began to realise that Timothy was now ten years old, getting younger, and in no position to be left at home alone. And, while it was a shaky start, now the clinic was thriving.

Manolis walked back into his house and saw the homework he had shown to Caroline lying on the coffee table. It reminded him how the constant moves weren't the only thing he had to get used to. Living with Timothy was…well confusing is the right word. He has no idea who wrote the maths homework, and the English essay, or even how it came into being.

The process with homework was Timothy would pass it, completed to him, at least once a week, complete with pencil written comments on the student's responses in his handwriting. Manolis then erased all the comments and corrections, then handed it back to Timothy. Timothy always went promptly to his room, and un-wrote the answers, the numbers and letters disappearing as his pen went over their pattern, leaving a page blank, except for the questions. The only way he had been able to show Caroline Timothy's homework, was by not giving Timothy the already answered sheet back yet.

Of course, he now realised what was going on. As Timothy experienced everything in the reverse of Manolis' own time, when Timothy was actually writing down the answers, in Manolis' eyes he was removing the answers. But still it confused him-where had the answers come from? And where had Manolis' own comments come from?

And when Manolis thought about this he realised that every day Timothy had learnt a little less than the day before. And then he realised that every day Timothy knew a little less about Manolis and the world a little vit more. And then he realised there would come a day where Timothy didn't know him at all.

And that was why Manolis tried not to think about this too much. Because Manolis had found he had truly come to care for this odd boy from a parallel timeline. At the start, he tried to rationalise it to himself that he was just trying to protect the boy from the trophy hunters, and the gangsters out there, but no. Manolis, some part of him, had wanted a son, and now he had one.

There were difficulties connecting with him, though Timothy didn't seem to mind (Of course he didn't-Timothy had known him for years, it was Manolis who didn't know Timothy). But Manolis made a supreme effort to try and communicate, despite the difficulties, and his effort increased over time. He had started using the recording device, which the Doctor left with him, every night to record, and then reverse playback his voice to Timothy, and allow Timothy to talk to him. Since then, Manolis and Timothy also talked through flash cards, even though Timothy had always given his answer before Manolis had asked the question. And, while it was a labour for Manolis to work out how to do such things backwards, he tried to do other fatherly things too, playing board games, cooking, playing music, playing sports. It wasn't easy, and was often stressful, but Manolis didn't regret a second of it.

However, it was still the recorded conversations that were the closest thing they could have to a long conversation, and it was here he found out about Timothy, his likes, his dislikes, and most of all, his life thus far. Timothy talked about his world, and how he left, and who took him in following that.

"I don't remember my Earth much-I was too young to leave. But it looked much like this," Timothy explained, "In fact, apart from some fashions, it's identical. There's even someone like you, Phil, watching over me even there. Keeping me safe."

Manolis remembered being glad Timothy had a father figure on his own planet. It was nice to know that eventually, when he lets Timothy go, someone else will be looking after him.

"It was that man who brought me here," Timothy continued, shocking Manolis immediately, "Left me in a strange alien world. I was put in a cage, until you came and saved me."

Manolis tried to press him for more details, but it seemed apparent that whatever happened when Timothy was in the cage was something too traumatic to recall.

He now came up to Timothy's room. Timothy immediately noticed him and held up a piece of card, upon which was written: _No, I didn't._

Manolis then put up his own card: _I've just returned from the supermarket. Did you come with me? _

He smiled at Timothy, still amused by this exchange. Timothy was now aged around seven, and yet he never questioned these concepts of time, something which continued to confuse Manolis. When Daddy Phil asked him if they had done something together, Timothy knew that Manolis wasn't old and confused, but instead he was trying to ask, in the only way possible considering their temporal differences, whether Timothy would like to go the shops with him.

Having received his answer, Manolis went to get his wallet. Then, after locking up securely, he started a brisk walk down the street.

At the supermarket, Manolis' vision quickly went black as two hands covered his eyes. When she did this originally, he almost struck her in a reflex action, but caught himself in time. Now, he was so used to her greeting he didn't even need to wait for Susan to say "Guess who" before he knew who it was.

"I have absolutely no idea," he answered.

She removed her hands, saying with an awfully cheery voice "It's Susan of course!"

"Susan, I'm fairly certain I don't know a Susan." Manolis answered, earning himself a light shove from the woman.

"Don't tease me, Dr. Samson. You know I'm a woman who doesn't like to be teased. Now, have you decided to relent and let me have you and your lovely son over for dinner yet?"

Manolis chose this time to blink, but shut his eyes longer than usual, so he could disguise his wince at Susan's words. Susan was a divorcee and a former patient of his, and almost immediately after their first meeting, she had made it clear she wanted more from him than medical advice. And this he could not give.

He liked her, and enjoyed her company, occasionally enjoying a coffee with her during a break from the clinic. But he couldn't and didn't want anything more from her. Even if he ignored the ethical considerations, his life had to be focused around Timothy right now. Susan, having no children, had no such problems, and no matter how politely Manolis hinted, she never seemed to relent.

So this time he may have to be more direct.

"Look, Susan, you know I enjoy your company," Manolis began and then realised Susan was neither listening, nor looking at him. Instead she was looking past him.

Manolis turned around to see four large, muscled, barely dressed men walk through the glass entry doors. Literally walk through, the glass producing small cuts on their tanned hides, but nothing these men seemed to care about.

One pulled two swords from where they were strapped to his back, and crossed them over his head. The people in the supermarket broke their startled silence and began to scream. A few tried to run to the door, to be blocked by two of these men.

"Hunt Marshal Gnark, war lord of Grelland, conqueror of the fourth dimension, and to whom the dragons bow declares this supermarket, and all who reside within it to be possessions of the Grels by right of conquest," the three Grels shouted out to the people, followed by rhythmic grunting, almost like cheering.

The leader, Gnark, dropped his two swords, embedding them in the ground, presumably as a show of power.

"All the women are now my consorts. All the men are now my slaves," Gnark snarled, looking around until he saw a small girl, clutching a teddy bear in one hand, and her mother's dress in the other, "And children shall be food for my Dragons, once we return to Grelland."

Naturally some of the shoppers were less than pleased at that. The manager raced out of his office with a cricket bat armed and ready. Everyone, the manager included, was surprised to get close enough to Gnark to strike, until he saw the bat shatter on the leader's back, without Gnark flinching. And then he found another Grel lifting his body off the ground by the neck.

"Come, let others attack us," Gnark called out to the people, "Don't let the fact Llejk here has only one hand free stop you. He has slaughtered the entire Brel tribe with only one hand."

There was no responses. One of the Grels was disappointed at this, and looked around at the males before walking to Manolis.

"You, human, what do they call you?"

"Dr….Dr Samson," Manolis said, absolutely petrified.

"A perfectly wormlike name for a perfect worm. I am Rtalku, and I wish to crush your skull."

Manolis was stunned, and found his lips produce the words, "No…no thankyou."

Rtalku laughed "Do you not wish to fight me? Do you not wish to defend the life of your woman here?" he said, pointing at Susan.

"She's not actually my woman but-"

"Hah! A loose female. I enjoy this planet more and more," Rtalku moved closer towards Susan, till her mild perfume was filling his senses, and his muscular stench was overpowering hers.

"And this planet bores me more and more," Gnark said, "Get on with it Rtalku."

"Fine!" Rtalku groaned, moving away from Susan, "But I will have a woman from this world before we leave!."

Gnark nodded his agreement.

"Very well. Assembled population of Supermarket, as you have refused to battle, there is only one way you can be freed from Gnark's control. He asks but one thing from your puny world. The location of the Trophy Child."

The sounds of crying, fear and shock quickly turned into sounds of utter confusion. Manolis tried to back away, afraid his nervousness would give himself up.

"The location of the Trophy Child-now!" Rtalku yelled.

"We don't know what the bloomin' trophy child is, yer daft ape!" a voice shouted from one corner of the supermarket.

Gnark's brow creased at this, "We will soon learn if you are lying. Llejk, slaughter your prisoner."

As the sounds of screaming and confusion remerged, Llejk took his sword out and lifted it to sliced the top of the manager's head off. He gave the traditional Grel cry of respect for the dead, slightly deafening the manager in the process, but then stopped, lowering his weapon. It was a little time before people realised why. The sounds of sirens, growing louder.

"Pol…ice," the manager forced through his mouth.

"What?" Llejk asked.

"Called as soon as I heard you," the manager said, "They'll stop you."

"What is this police?" Gnark asked, as Rtalku quickly began to move towards the exit.

"Those who impose the law. The warriors of this world," Rtalku explained, "None able to beat us in combat, but if we allow them to find us, we will attract stronger powers, until one of us may be harmed."

"Very well, these humans probably knew nothing anyway. Quick retreat!"

Llejk dropped the manager on the ground, sending the man into a restful sleep, and returned his sword to his belt. Rtalku and the remaining Grel, Ttaku, needed nothing to leave quickly moved to leave alongside Llejk. Gnark, however, was not as fortunate, quickly finding that embedding two swords into cement, while impressive, was awfully hard to undo.

"Quick, fools, help me with my swords," Gnark ordered.

Rtalku stared at his leader, pulling hard on his two blades, then looked out to see police cars arriving in the distance.

"Leave them Hunt Marshall!"

"No-without them I have no evidence of my birthright!"

Rtalku once more stared at Gnark, and then at the cars again. And then he came to a decision which was strongly reprimanded, but still almost traditional in his culture. He clasped boths hands together in a fist, and then knocked his leader to the ground.

"We leave!" he ordered Llejak and Ttaku.

"But the Hunt Marshal-"

"We shall return to him later," Rtalku said, then raced out the front door, with the two Grels in tow. The approaching police cars stopped as they saw the Grels coming towards them, but this did not hamper the aliens. They just leapt onto the cars, ran across the length, and leapt off, never stopping for a breath. Very soon the three Grels had raced from sight.

Manolis returned home-his shopping far from complete, but after what had happened, he could live with eating left overs for another night.

After the police had handcuffed Gnark, and dragged him into the back of the police car, they took Manolis' statement and left. Manolis felt even more guilty having to lie to a policeman, but after lying to Rtalku while being absolutely petrified, lying was becoming more and more natural to him.

The one good thing to come from it was at least Susan was prepared to cancel any dinner date with him. She hadn't exactly called him a coward, but the glare she had given him while they gave their evidence clearly stated she did not appreciate how he acted.

It was a pity. He's miss their coffees and conversation. But he supposed, after what had just happened, he was not going to have much time for either anymore.

He usually, on returning home, would go upstairs to talk to Timothy. But today, after briefly checking Timothy was all right, Manolis replaced his conversation with Timothy with communication of a different kind. He went to his study, and went to his desk drawer. In there lay the six squares the Doctor had given them.

As requested, he lay the squares on the carpet, and sat in front of them. But after that he was lost of what to do. So he just remembered. Shut his eyes and tried to recall everything that had just happened at the supermarket. Every last detail of the Grels he could possibly recall, he brought to his mind. And then he brought to mind the funny man in the patchwork coat he had meet almost ten years ago.

When he opened his eyes the squares had gone. But nothing else had happened, which Manolis thought fairly lacklustre.

Then a wheezing groaning sound filled the room. He tried to move towards the door, afraid of what was happening in his study, but still not being able to turn his head away, not even to turn the door knob.

Gradually, as the noise increased, a blue police box faded into existence in his study, right on top of where the squares would have been. As the box solidified, the sound came to an abrupt stop, and the door opened.

Manolis found himself crossing his fingers for luck, hoping this actually was the Doctor, and not just another alien warrior. He had faced one alien warrior today, he didn't think he was able to face.

Then he saw Peri, not one year older than when he saw her last, walk out of the box with a large smile on her face. Following her was the Doctor, who appeared to be less cheerful, and slightly disinterested in the whole situation.

"Hello, Phil," the Doctor said, sticking out his hand, and shaking Manolis' firmly, "Did you want something?"


End file.
